Unconquerable
by Esthelaaaa
Summary: Eragon knew that failing to kill Galbatorix would mean death; not only to him, but to his loved ones, and would make the sacrifices of the others who came before him meaningless. Eragon knew what he was risking when he dared to challenge such a powerful foe. What he didn't know, however, was what would happen after he inevitably lost.


Okay! Esthela here! (pen name, obviously :p)

I apologise profusely beforehand for any delays with updates, and any problems with my writing. Feel free to give me criticisms and comments below when you're finished! No flame though, please; nobody enjoys it, and nobody needs it 3

Without further ado, allow me to present my first serious (hopefully) work: Unconquerable!

(i dont own anything except my storyline and my OCs... Eragon, Arya, and the wonderful world they live in, Alagaesia, are not mine... :c i wish they were though!)

The double gates gave way reluctantly in front of Arya's hands, before slowing to rest once a gap large enough to fit Saphira was created. Eragon followed her in, his hobnailed boots clacking softly on the cold stone floor, Brisingr tightly grasped in his fist. The throne room was dark- unbearably dark, and massive. Only a few torches flickered along the walls, casting a feeble red light that seemed to cower in the presence of the oppressive shadows. A lonely throne, carved out of solid marble, sat squarely near the end of the hall on a dais where light could reach; further, and he could not see. Eragon knew it was Galbatorix who sat on the throne, looking at ease despite his seat being distinctively uncomfortable. He had a beard, neatly cut, with light grey streaks throughout, and likewise with his combed hair. He was wearing a black robe with gold and silver embroidery, with a dark brown leather cape on his shoulders. A thin, pale sword lay naked on his lap, the scabbard leaning against the left armrest. His entire figure emanated power, and fear coursed through Eragon like a incapacitating river of ice, immobilizing him for a moment until he hardened his resolve, thinking of Brom and Oromis, of Roran and Garrow, of Saphira, and lastly, of Arya.

"Welcome," Galbatorix's sibilant voice echoed through the vast chamber without warning. "Eragon, I have been expecting you, and you too, Arya Drottningu… But considering the fight outside, perhaps I should refer to you as Drottning?" He laughed cruelly, and Eragon felt Arya stiffen beside him. He looked at her quickly, trying to calm her down a little, and she acknowledged him with a quick, sharp nod. "And Saphira," Galbatorix continued, "how magnificent you are; truly a queen among dragons, beautiful and terrible, lovely and fierce. How thoughtful of you to finally come to join me. And you too, Umaroth, Glaedr, and all the rest of you, have you finally come out of hiding to acknowledge me as rightful king?" The Elundari growled in confusion inside Eragon's head.

Eragon stepped forward, his stare fixed at the figure in front of him. So this was the egg-breaker, the power-hungry, mad king who had torn the natural order of the world asunder. He opened his mouth to speak, but Murtagh burst through another pair of gates, slightly smaller, cunningly made to look as though part of the walls around them. "I apologize, your majesty, but it was painstakingly difficult to reset all the traps that Eragon destroyed and triggered." He knelt and bowed in front of Galbatorix, seemingly ignoring Eragon and Arya and Saphira.

Galbatorix tilted his head as he beheld Murtagh, his eyes holding disdain. "That is no excuse; I expected far better from you. But no matter now, I will punish you later. Come forward!" His voice echoed commandingly, and Eragon felt invisible bonds tighten around him, securing his limbs and head in place. Out of the corner of his eyes he could see the same with Arya, and Saphira as well. He tried breaking the bonds, but to no avail. _Patience, youngling. He has the Elundari_, Umaroth boomed in his mind. Galbatorix rose from his throne smoothly, his sword scraping lightly against the marble. "I see you are looking at my sword," he said. "I took it from Vrael itself. He called it Islingr, or Light Bringer… I call it Vrangr... more fitting, wouldn't you say?"

Umaroth roared in anger in Eragon's mind, making him wince in discomfort. Without warning, he attacked Galbatorix's mind fiercely, and the other Elundari, Eragon, Saphira and Arya augmented his mental assault. However, a thousand demented minds chattering and roaring and screaming and gibbering intercepted their attack, confusing and repelling them wherever they reached. _It must be the Elundari Galbatorix has_, Eragon realised. They were all mad, judging by their mental voices. Eragon was forced to retreat by the multitude of bad dragons, and Umaroth and the others followed suit, despite their increasing anger once they realised the extent of their madness at Galbatorix's hands.

"Come now, that is hardly any way to treat your host, is it," Galbatorix mocked. "If you try anything silly like that again, I'll just have to punish you… You see, I have control of the Ancient Language now; I'm sure you know what that means for your precious Alfakyn companions outside." Eragon clenched his teeth in frustration, his tendons standing out starkly on his neck.

Galbatorix waved his sword hand, muttering under his breath. The bonds holding Eragon loosened, and he stumbled forward, almost falling over in his surprise. "The time has come now, to see whether you or Murtagh is the better swordsman," he said, smiling widely. _He is toying with us still_, Eragon realised, anger and determination burning all the brighter in his breast. _We will show him how wrong he is to underestimate us!_

He was ready to charge at Galbatorix, but Umaroth quickly intercepted. _Arya and Saphira are both immobile right now- what will happen to them?_ Eragon cursed as he realised he would be endangering them. He looked back at Saphira and Arya. Arya's eyes and expression seemed to say, _Don't worry about me; I'll be fine. Do whatever it takes to finish this!_ He struggled for a moment, before deciding to bide his time; he could not bear Saphira or Arya, by far the two most important people in his life, to come to any harm. Instead he stood to face Murtagh, holding Brisingr snugly in his hand. When Galbatorix gestured, Murtagh unsheathed Zar'roc with a sinister steely slither, its red hues even angrier in the torches' dim light so that it seemed to be dripping with blood.

Eragon stepped forward, cursing his lack of a shield, and Murtagh faced him, also without any shield. With a yell, Murtagh charged, swinging Zar'roc in a powerful forehand stroke, but Eragon, using the flexibility he gained from his Rimgar exercises, dodged it gracefully. _Know your opponent and keep calm_, he chanted softly in his mind. He stood back up as Zar'roc passed harmlessly over him, bending like a reed, just as Oromis taught. He stabbed Murtagh's lower body, knowing that he liked to sweep thrusts aside with backhands to allow a stronger counterattack. Just as Murtagh did as predicted and was most vulnerable, Eragon smashed his gauntleted fist into Murtagh's face, smashing his nose, and followed up with a knock to his head with the hilt of Brisingr. Murtagh stumbled, clutching his head, and before Eragon could take advantage of the situation, Galbatorix once again restrained him, and surprisingly also healed Murtagh. Galbatorix muttered in the Ancient Language a little more, and Murtagh stood to face Eragon more confidently.

Eragon stood his ground calmly, and let Murtagh come to him again. This time Murtagh started off with a casual forehand blow to his left ribs, which Eragon deflected, and followed with a powerful overhead swing that Eragon decided to block, to have a good measure of Murtagh's strength. He grunted in pain and surprise at the force behind Murtagh's swing; he was sure that before he was nowhere near this strong or fast. Galbatorix must have evened the playing fields a little. Narrowing his eyes, he quickly devised a strategy. He thought back to how he was constantly surprised at his own strength right after the Agaeti Blodhren, where he was transformed. He was constantly being surprised by his own speed and strength and reflexes, he took several months before growing more accustomed to it. _Speed and strength gained through unnatural means can often be harmful_, Oromis's words echoed in his mind.

This time, he was the one who charged at Murtagh, who was eyeing him suspiciously, wondering what he was up top. With a yell, he began a flurry of blows as strong and fast as he could, quickly tiring but hoping to catch Murtagh by surprise with his newfound abilities. It turned out that once again Oromis was right; he took every advantage out of the way Murtagh was swinging harder and further and earlier than he intended to, and managed to land several hits of his own. Murtagh disengaged, stumbling backwards in his haste, and Eragon didn't follow, as he was also winded heavily. Murtagh winced as he stood on his left leg which now sported a deep gash along the front of his thigh; blood pumped quickly out of it, and he quickly stemmed the flow with unspoken magic before he lost too much. The tip of his left ear was also missing, with a thin scratch running horizontally across the left side of his head, ending just under his eye. His shield arm also sported a laceration along the outer forearm.

"Enough!" Galbatorix's voice boomed through the chamber powerfully. "It seems you are still outclassed by Eragon," he said, sounding rather irritated for a moment. Eragon glanced back at Arya and Saphira, and found them watching him with deep concern and frustration. _Are you alright? Can you fight Galbatorix like this?_ she seemed to ask. Eragon hardened his resolve; the century of struggle would not stop because he felt worse for the wear; no, there were too many sacrifices, too many deaths to stop now.

Suddenly, Murtagh shouted a Word, and the Word resonated, almost overcoming the lesser words that came after it in its majestic echo. Galbatorix's eyes widened in shock on his throne, and he stood up in fury, holding his pale blade in front of him. "How dare you, _youngling_, after all I have done for you? It seems you require a thorough lesson after I am done with these," he growled.

"Done for me? You certainly have abused your position as king enough to deserve this a thousand times over! It is time for you to die!" Murtagh looked at Galbatorix with venom in his eyes, relishing in the idea of impaling his black heart on his slender red blade. Thorn roared into action as well and attacked Shruikan, and Saphira pounced after him, red and blue converging on a great mass of smoky black. Arya ran gracefully after them, running up Saphira's back, never losing her hold, even when Shruikan thrashed and tried to throw them off.

At the same time, Eragon and Murtagh came towards Galbatorix who seemed to laugh. "When have you ever come close to beating me, boy," he sneered in contempt.

Murtagh merely locked his jaw and darted forwards, ignoring the pain, and swung directly at Galbatorix's side. Eragon matched him and dealt an overhead blow, but Galbatorix laughed and blocked Murtagh skilfully with the stark hilt of his blade, and Eragon with his crossguard. _To stop such a fast and strong blow with his hilt and mine with his crossguard, to not even flinch at the combine force… what kind of monster are we fighting? _Fear began to take hold of Eragon, and Umaroth and the others funnelled energy into him, silently supporting him. Thanking them, Eragon and Murtagh attacked Galbatorix from either side. He just stood with his feet planted in the middle however, his sword a blur, and his armoured left hand occasionally deflecting a blow. Murtagh suddenly crumpled, screaming in agony, and Galbatorix laughed, sensing the cause of his pain.

"See him die, you traitor," he laughed manically. _His bloodlust has driven him beyond mad… he doesn't even care if we live or die…! That means Saphira and Arya are in great danger too… I must not lose…_

He turned around to see Nirnen lodged firmly in Shruikan's left eye. Saphira was trying to distract him, but Shruikan had Thorn firmly under his right forepaw. His great muzzle came down, gaping wide, his many teeth glinting horribly in the dim light… The crunch was easily audible, even with Murtagh and Thorn's combined shouting and roaring.

Galbatorix stabbed Murtagh through his face and his pale blade exited Murtagh's neck… Before he pulled it out, Eragon quickly stabbed towards his torso, to avenge Murtagh's death. Galbatorix barely looked his way, deflecting the point with his left hand so that it barely grazed his back, before kicking Murtagh unceremoniously off the point of his sword, gore starkly contrasting with the whiteness of his sword.

Shruikan now turned onto Saphira and swatted her with a forepaw. She skilfully dodged, but there wasn't much room to manoeuvre in the hall, and his tail slammed into her wing, and she was flung across the width of the hall until she hit the wall, small cracks forming on it. Her wings were folded at odd angles. Arya was trapped underneath her, her beautiful face contorted in an expression of pain.

"Now it's your turn, Eragon," Galbatorix said, before immobilising him in place in magic, forcing him to look towards his loved ones. Murtagh's death had freed him from his magical bonds. "Yes, feast on her, Shruikan!" His eyes glowed with deranged ecstasy.

Shruikan roared and crushed Saphira between her jaws, her roars of pain quickly silenced, but Eragon's screams continued to echo through the hall. He could feel a great portion of his heart ripped forcefully from his chest, and he felt so alone, so empty… _No… please, no… This cannot be happening…_

Shruikan eyed Arya, her legs bent at unnatural angles, recognising her as the one to impale his left eye. "Shruikan, wait," Galbatorix called. Faithfully, he retreated, baring his teeth at her, Nirnen still lodged in his eye painfully. Galbatorix motioned with his right hand, and she slid across the ground towards him. He grabbed her by her hair, pulling her to Eragon's face level. "Enjoy your last moment together, you two lovebirds," he cackled.

She looked to him, her eyes piercing and pleading. She seemed to be pleading with him to not give up, to use her as a distraction to break free and kill Galbatorix if need be. She also seemed to be thankful, although for what he could not tell.

Blood splattered his clothes and dribbled out of her mouth suddenly; Galbatorix had thrust his white sword Vrangr through her back and out her abdomen. Shock gripped his mind; first Saphira, and now Arya? _NO! Please, please, PLEASE, I beg for you let this not be true! _Umaroth and the Elundari suddenly could not reach his mind, his shock and anguish shutting them out. Brisingr clattered to the ground, the brightsteel clanging hollowly against the polished marble floor. Galbatorix's empty laugh and its echoes rang chaotically in his mind. He felt numb, so numb…

Galbatorix continued to push Vrangr, until the hilt pressed against the small of Arya's back, letting go of her long hair. She pitched forward and her face hit his shoulder. He looked at it, unbelieving, both unable to move and unable to stop moving. He felt a cold bite near his navel, and found the point of Vrangr emerging from Arya's abdomen piercing his body. Yet he could not move more than his hands and his head; Galbatorix still held his body captive. The cold bit further in, and the world began to fade into a cacophony of _his_ deranged laughing, Shruikan's terrible jaws, Saphira's mangled body and Arya, held by her hair, Vrangr appearing out of her abdomen again and again…

_Is this real?_ _Is this the reward for all our sacrifices, all our hardships and toiling? If it is, I don't think I can accept that… Where am I? Is this the void?_

The darkness around him merely stirred a little bit in response. Eragon tried to move, but found he either had no limbs, or couldn't feel them at all.

_Is this my punishment for being arrogant, believing I could defeat a god-king like Galbatorix? Did the others die because of my weakness and confidence? _In his mind he knew that wasn't true and that Arya and Nasuada and Brom and all the others fought even without him, but he couldn't think rationally.

_If only I was stronger, wiser, a better leader, a greater friend. It is too late now; Galbatorix will keep the land bound under his dark rule for centuries with none to oppose him. And this is my doing; it was my duty to stop him!_

"Indeed it was your duty, and to be precise, it is still your duty to stop him from unbalancing the world," a dry voice echoed somewhere in the darkness.

_Who - who are you?_

"I am the keeper of the void, I suppose… there is no real name for me in your language, whether it be the common tongue, the language of the elves, the dwarves, urgals or any other race. Yes, I believe that would be it… and both the void and the world of the living, from whence you have just departed, are in risk. Galbatorix, as you now know, has found a Word, the name of the Ancient Language of the Grey Folk. Magic should never have been bound and restricted like it has been, but now that it has, the Name holds unbelievable power. That alone is not enough to make Galbatorix a great threat to the worlds of both the living and the dead; however, there are many other secrets of this world, secrets that he is in a position to unearth, secrets that are unknown for a good cause. It is these, along with the Name, that jeopardise the worlds; and it is because of this that I need to send you back."

_How can that be possible? The dead are dead, they never return._ Eragon remembered the warnings from Oromis and Brom to never try to resurrect a dead person.

"You are correct in saying that, or at least in part. However, time flows separately here and in Alagaesia. So if I resurrect you now into a time when you hadn't died, namely, back into the past, I wouldn't be resurrecting a dead person. It is a strange concept, I know, and you must be quite confused right now; but yes, it is possible, and yes, it can be done."

_If that was so, then how has nobody tried to do this before?_

"It only works if you bring back a person who has died already in the time you are reaching out towards, and they must not have been born yet at the time when they are being 'resurrected', perse. If any of these conditions are not met… well, I believe you know about a certain incident nearly causing the end of the world at the time of the Grey Folk? That was partially because of this. Then there is the excessively large amount of energy needed and the understanding required to weave the spell successfully. It is not a spell of the Ancient Language, no; it is far broader than the Language can hope to encompass, but it is possible to use the Language to aid one during the process."

_Why me? _This was the dreaded question that he had asked Brom so many times, and again, he couldn't help it as it slipped out.

"You are the one most suited for this task. You yourself have seen how much you have grown and developed and matured in the short time given you, have you not? You have the potential to go very, very far, young Eragon. There will be a few changes wrought upon you, however, from this journey."

_Changes?_

"You will see; do not worry, they are for the best."

_Then what happens when I arrive at the time I should have been born?_

"You are thinking this through very thoroughly," the Keeper said, sounding amused in a way. "Your parents will not bear you as a child. There is nothing to fear in that regard."

There was a brief lull in their conversation as Eragon digested what he was being told.

_I have never shirked away from my duty, I am sure you know that. However, before I depart from this world, may I meet Saphira and Arya, at least one last time?_

"You fear that they will no longer exist in the past? Do not fear; they will merely be born a little later, but they will be the same… minus the experiences and memories you held together. Of course, I shall allow you to meet them again; but bear in mind, you can only hear each other's thoughts and, to a certain extent, emotions. You cannot not see, touch or sense each other in any other way. Such is the world of the void."

After a moment of waiting in the darkness of the void, Eragon heard a familiar voice and presence.

_Little one?_

_Saphira? Is that truly you?_

_Little one, I am offended you do not recognise me. _Saphira sounded a little miffed, but they could tell that they were both beyond joyous at their reunion.

_Oh… when I saw Shruikan's jaws, that horrible crunching, I felt my heart ripping…_

_All is well now, all is well. You have been given a second chance to defeat Galbatorix! This is to be rejoiced over, let us not dwell upon such thoughts._

_Aye, you are right, as always._ Eragon and Saphira shared the mental equivalent of a hug and smile.

_I will miss you terribly…_ Eragon recalled his journey to the dwarf clans' leader elections. If he felt the lack of her presence so sorely over a meagre couple of weeks, how could he last the decades or even centuries?

_Do not fear; we will meet again. I will await you eagerly in my egg._

_And I shall search for you with all my strength, and when I find you, I will never let go._

_You are as sweet as always, little one. We _will_ meet again, you need not fear about it. Have faith in yourself, and in me. I would never hatch for anybody else._

Eragon felt her presence fade as the Keeper replaced her beside him.

"Talk briefly with Arya, but be quick; the optimum time of the spell is almost upon us."

Another brief silence followed, and soon Arya's musical thoughts joined with his own.

_Arya? _

She was silent for a moment, and he could feel her conflicting emotions.

_Th… Thank you, Eragon. Thank you for rescuing me from Gilead and giving me a second life. Although filled with troubles and hardships, it was wonderful to spend time with you and Saphira. _

Eragon suddenly recalled her expression at the time of her death. Was this what she wanted to say?

_No, thank _you_. You, along with Saphira, have been my main source of motivation and strength. I would never have made it anywhere without you. The times we spent together were all very precious to me, and I cannot begin to express my gratitude for guiding and helping me, especially when I was more inexperienced._

Eragon paused, a little afraid to ask, but gathered his courage.

_Do you think- I mean, if we had time, do you think you could have grown to love me? That we could have been happy together, maybe start a family?_

Arya was silent for a moment, and he sensed a small portion of her inner turmoil.

_Eragon… I think I loved you for a while, but I always tried to tell myself otherwise, saying you were too young in years and in experience, that it would distract the both of us, that it was improper and not meant to be. I am truly sorry for pushing you away like I did._

_No, I understand why you did, and I am sorry for placing you in such a difficult position to begin with._

The Keeper of the void mentally nudged Eragon a little bit, to let him know that his time was almost up.

_I need to depart soon; we have not the time to talk for long. I will find you again, Arya, and I swear that I will make a world of peace and prosperity where you can laugh and dance as you once did, where we can raise a family without fears._

_Then I will hold you to your oath…_

Her presence faded also, and Eragon once again found himself alone with the Keeper.

"I apologise for giving such little time for goodbyes and promises, but we have no moment to spare now. Brace yourself; this will feel very disorienting."

He started singing in his dry voice, creating a melody that slowly deepened and widened and then broadened. He could feel the power behind the wordless song. A little while later, he felt a gentle pulling on his soul, a pulling that grew to a tug then a fierce wrenching. The darkness faded in a spiral of colour and noise, and he felt himself slipping forwards – no, backwards – and spinning at the same time. He felt overwhelmed by the unfamiliar sensation, and tried to close his eyes. He could feel time flowing around him; like he was a rock in the middle of a roaring river. The cacophony of noise and blinding light grew to a complete whiteness and deafening sound. He could somehow tell he had arrived in the world of the living; how he knew, he could not say. Darkness slowly took over again as the overwhelming transition from the void finally took its toll, and he fell unconscious.

He woke as the sun's rays first fell upon his face. Sitting up slowly, he looked around him in a daze. _Was that all real? Could it have been a dream?_ Shaking his head, he dismissed the thought. A simple nightmare could never have been so realistic or affect him this strongly.

A roar and the sound of fighting shook him from his daze. Quickly standing up, he saw there was a score of elves fighting two dragons. Even as he watched, one of the dragons swooped down and crushed two elves beneath him, but his side was impaled by a spear, his blood painting crimson streaks on his silver scales. Both sides were suffering great losses.

Shocked into action, Eragon ran across the field as fast as he could, his bare feet rustling through the grass. "Stop – what are you doing?!"

He pulled an elf down as a dragon swooped overhead. Eragon looked at him, startled. The elves looked a lot more human than he remembered; they seemed mortal and less graceful and wise. Suddenly, Eragon realised that he had been transported to the war between elves and dragons that preceded the riders.

Quickly taking action, he shouted, "_Taune du vindr fra theirra blaka!"_

The second dragon roared in surprise as the air was pulled from underneath its wings. She plummeted to the ground, barely managing to land on their feet. The elves rushed at the dragon as she lay prone on the ground, but Eragon, with his superior speed, reached her first and stood in front of them, holding Brisingr sheathed in its scabbard in his left hand, silently thankful for the presence of his sword.

"_Blothr,_" he commanded simply, not putting any energy into the word.

The elves halted, narrowing their eyes at him. "Who are you, to stop us from killing them? Why are you not helping us? They are dragons! Do you not know how many of us they have killed!?" one shouted in outrage, stepping forward in his anger, his slim, silver blade flashing as it caught the light.

"How many of them have we killed? There is too much hatred; the dragons will destroy us as we destroy them if this war continues!"

The two dragons behind him stood slowly, slitting their eyes and baring their fangs. Eragon looked back at them quickly, trying to show that he wasn't going to fight against them. "_Waise mor'ranr; eka celobra ono un malabra ono ne haina. Atra nosu waise fricai._" _Be at peace; I honour you and mean you no harm. Let us be friends. _At the same time, he touched their minds, sending emotions and feelings of peace and comfort and friendship. At this, the dragons hesitated before backing off a little, turning their smouldering gaze onto the group of elves. Eragon held out his hand, signalling that they stay behind him. He knew that it was for the best that he be the one to convince the elves.

Hearing the approach of an elf, he turned back to them. The elf approaching him seemed to be their leader, a light circlet of intricate silver wires gracing his brow, and an elegant sword with gold decorations on the face of the blade and on the hilt. However, he was a far cry from the elves Eragon was familiar with. He was neither as graceful nor as powerful as Eragon was. He tilted his head up a little, staring down his nose at Eragon.

"And who might you be?" he asked, his lip curling slightly. He held his sword aggressively, his body tense and ready to attack at any moment.

Eragon was calm, however, knowing that he had ample time to react, as the elves were similar in physical capabilities as humans. "I am Eragon Bromson; I expect you have not heard of me." It would have probably been more accurate to say directly that Eragon was not known to any of them.

The elf's lip curled even more. "Then I command you to move out of my way, Eragon Bromson. We are fighting on behalf of the elvish people; you have no power here."

Eragon merely stood calmly, Brisingr still sheathed. "I will tell you once again; this war must stop, or both races will be destroyed."

The elf's face darkened as he furrowed his brows. With a cry, he lunged forwards, his blade flashing towards Eragon's neck. Eragon flicked Brisingr slightly out of its scabbard with his thumb and caught the blow on the sliver of his sword showing between the hilt and the scabbard. The elf-lord's eyes widened in surprise as the bright ringing of steel resounded through the field.

"Instead of attacking me, do you not think it is more important to tend to those wounded by the dragons?" Eragon asked. The elf-lord clenched his teeth in anger, and pushed against Brisingr, but to no avail. Seeing the growing anger in the elf-lord's eyes, and glancing at the others, Eragon realised that they were without a healer.

The elf-lord called through clenched teeth for aid from his friends. Six of them advanced upon Eragon, as too many would cause trouble in working as a group.

Eragon knew that as strong as he was, he would be very hard-pressed to hold his own against seven elves while trying to avoid killing them. Instead, he looked for an alternative.

"I can heal your wounded," he said to the leader, who narrowed his eyes even further so that his eyes were mere slits.

"You lie," the elf replied, suspicious.

"I do not; and as a leader, it is your obligation to keep your warriors safe, yes?"

Eragon knew that the elf-leader could not turn him down, and the elf withdrew, calling his fellow elves to follow. "Next time we meet, I will fight you to the death, for the grievant offence you have caused for the house of House Haldthin!" He turned on his heels abruptly, his lips pressed together tightly. "Heal my warriors quickly; I would be gone from this place."

Eragon approached the two wounded on the floor. Their archaic armour was a far cry from the graceful armour he was accustomed to, but it had protected their internal organs to an extent. Many bones were shattered, and there was some internal bleeding. Pulling energy from himself and from the many plants around him, he knit their bones together and mended their organs and blood vessels, before removing the scars on their bodies. His vision darkened for a second and he rocked back before falling onto his rear. He felt dizzy from the exertion, and panted raggedly for a moment before his strength returned. He could hear a few of the elves breathe in awe at his magic.

The leader issued quiet commands, and the two were lifted onto stretchers. Then the party marched off, leaving Eragon with the dragons.

He turned back to them, once again touching their minds. _May I heal you, O great dragons? _He sent them mental images of when he saw the male being impaled by a spear, and then of him healing the wound.

The dragons gave their consent, and he looked all over them, healing every wound with the exception of the smaller scratches. The female dragon gave a mew of distress, and nudged Eragon with her indigo, bony snout. He followed her as she led him beyond a copse of trees to the wounded form of a very, very young dragon. It was black, and the light reflected off its scales shone indigo.

There was a knife embedded in its side, and its breathing was shallow and laboured. Its head was laid limply on the ground, and its eyes were partially open. Eragon quickly muttered spells to check for any other important wounds. The dragons looked on with a mixture of worry and hope, hope that Eragon himself wished was not misplaced. He sung softly in a melody that seemed to simply come out of his mind as easily as a tune sung from memory, stopping the bleeding, before knitting together the wound. It was the third time within an hour that Eragon used very energy-consuming spells, and he fell forwards, next to the little dragon, and rested for a while.

Eragon wasn't sure how long he laid there. The warm sun, with the balmy breeze and the soft rustling of the grass lulled him into a comfortable nap, and he dozed peacefully for a while, before a soft snorting woke him up.

He could see that the baby dragon had woken up, and was trying to reach around its body with its long neck in confusion. It looked at him with wide, violet eyes, a look of bewilderment on its face.

"I healed you, little one," Eragon whispered to it. "Do not worry; I will keep you safe from harm."

The little dragon understood the meaning behind his words, and relaxed in his arms, dozing off contentedly.

He felt a couple minds brush up against his own, and instinctively raised the barriers around his mind, before realising that it was only the dragons. The father sent him feelings of gratitude that were tinged in uncertainty and suspicion, and the mother nudged him, saying, _I do not know who you are or why you have chosen to help us here; but I am very grateful, whatever your reason, that you saved her_.

_It was my pleasure to help,_ Eragon replied. _May I ask what your names are?_

The dragoness nudged her mate with the side of her head. He made a low rumble at the base of his long neck before replying with difficulty,_ My… my name is… Varrgael._

His mate nuzzled his neck with her own, humming softly. _And mine is Zephyntsu. _

_My name is Eragon, and I look forward to the next time that we meet. _Eragon reached forward and scratched Zephyntsu's jaw just the way Saphira loved, and the thought brought painful memories into his mind. She hummed softly in response, closing her eyes in bliss.

_May the winds favour you, and may your teeth and claws stay sharp_, she replied. She nudged her child with her snout, Eragon grimacing slightly at the gouts of hot, sulphuric air from her large nostrils. _Time to wake up, little one. Eragon must part ways with us now…_

The young dragon tried to ignore his mother and burrowed deeper into Eragon's arms, turning her head into the crook of his elbow. Eragon laughed softly and stroked it slowly, touching its mind, conveying that it needed to go with its mother, and slowly kneeled to the floor before setting her onto the ground gently. She let out a squeak-roar in protest as her mother picked her up between her jaws, careful to not injure her.

_Until next time_, Eragon waved to them. The father trumpeted loudly at the heavens, startling several birds into flight, before launching off with heavy thudding of his leathery wings, followed by those of his mate, their scales shimmering and glinting like thousands of gems under the sun.

Eragon stared at them for a little while, admiring their grace and power and beauty in flight. When they were mere specks in the sky, he let out a deep sigh, before running towards Ellesmera, weaving nimbly through the labyrinth of pines, the smell of pine needles constantly in every breath he drew.

_Taune du vindr fra theirra blaka_: Take the wind from their wings

Blothr: Halt

Waise mor'ranr; eka celobra ono un malabra ono ne haina. Atra nosu waise fricai. Be at peace; I honour you and mean you no harm. Let us be friends.


End file.
